


Pidge Loves the Sky

by fairdeath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Napping, Post voltron, Post-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: Space? Space is cool. Travelling the galaxy, being on planet humanity doesn’t even think exists was cool. Saving the universe and her family and friends was a good lesson in how the hell to grow up. Meeting lifeforms with more history in their pockets than in the entirety of Earth was a rush.But Pidge really, really likes being home now.





	Pidge Loves the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibupony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibupony/gifts).



> Happy Pidge's Birthday! This is a part of the Pidge's Birthday Exchange and is written for @ibupony on tumblr! Ibu requested "Shidge, Star Wars AU, post-Voltron, Pacific Rim AU". I've never seen Star Wars or Pacific Rim, so I did what I could with the remaining categories.

Pidge loves the sky. She loves the clouds, the cirrus that look like paint brush strokes, the cirrocumulus that look like tiny flocks of sheep, the cumulonimbus that look like the class bunny they had when she was in the second grade. Pidge loves the night sky. She loves the moon’s glow, the fading red and orange rays of sun, the constellations that have remained constant in all her time. She loves the night storms that drift in, the way the clouds roll over themselves, a tumble and turn of building energy before the crescendo.

Space? Space is cool. Travelling the galaxy, being on planet humanity doesn’t even think exists was cool. Saving the universe and her family and friends was a good lesson in how the hell to grow up. Meeting lifeforms with more history in their pockets than in the entirety of Earth was a rush.

But Pidge really, _really_ likes being home now. She loves the sun’s rays on her skin, the tingling touch of a threatening sunburn ever present on her shoulders. She loves the sounds of the wind rushing through the desert and through the smell of the trees of forests. She loves the smell, the humidity of incoming rain, the sound of thunder as it knocks against the walls of her home, the feeling of its vibration caressing her eardrums and chest.

She loves Shiro. Shiro, who stood by her from the day they first met, celebratory dinner at their home to mark the chosen garrison members for the Kerberos mission. Shiro, who never gave more than she asked for, who withheld advances until she was ready, who was whatever she needed, be it a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a security blanket, a protector, or a lover. He held himself strong when she could no longer, held her when she cried over being so close _and yet so far_ from finding Matt, from finding her dad. He stood tall when she and Allura were invited to the fertility festival on planet Thilynos as royalty while the other paladins were denied entrance to the atmosphere during the holiday. He pushed her in training to beat her best every time, even when she felt like her legs could take her no further, like her arms had pulled her energy away from her, fatigue caging her chest, and she would best herself. When a battle had been too tough, too bloody, too loud, red, fast, he would wash her hair, watch the red swirl around the drain, would use the prettiest, calmest smelling body wash he’d steal from Lance’s collection and massage the incoming bruises out, convince the knots in her shoulders to release.

When they came back to Earth, none of them came back unscathed. Lance, who was the best love tío before intergalactic war happened, became more loved for his tales of epic adventure, even if he did stare off into space or hug everyone a little tight. Hunk left the garrison all together, started a very successful bakery in a town a little too far for the garrison to justify sending agents on the off chance he’d talk. Hunk makes the best pastelitos de gayaba outside of Florida in the continental United States – several magazines words, not Pidge’s. Though Keith has a nondescript home in the middle of the desert, his tangible ties to Earth are with Voltron; with Shiro, with Lance, with Pidge and Hunk. He’s off maintaining and being a face of peace more than he’s at group dinners or answering Garrison apology letters. Shiro, as much as he loves his high seat and the salary the garrison gives him, can’t tolerate bright lights, lest he have headaches and cold sweats. Pidge can’t stand the colour red; not in fabrics, traffic lights, not in strawberry jam or even sunset evenings.

But she still loves the sky. She loves the colours, like a children’s finger painting on old plasterboard hallway walls, she loves the soft ebb and flow of the rolling clouds, she loves the day to day change from dark, heavy, ominous clouds, to the soft herds of sheep that move like molasses. She loves the storms that sweep in like room temperature butter on hot toast. She falls asleep like that often, like she does now, watching the clouds drift in and out from her and Shiro’s far too big bed, her head resting on forearms, her consciousness falling in sync with the clouds like old friends meeting for brunch.

Pidge is awakened from her impromptu nap by the sound of keys jingling from deeper in the house, the sound of Rover’s toe pads on wooden floorboards tapping along like the hums of patrons at a café to the soft radio in the background. It isn’t like an alarm, it isn’t a sharp jostle from being asleep to being conscious. She lets sleep take her again; Pidge knows she’s safe, or else Rover would have started barking long ago. And the plethora of home security alarms she had rigged up when they’d moved in would’ve sounded as well.

The next time Pidge comes to, it isn’t to the sound of anything in particular, but rather to the feeling. It’s long since become dark, the moon, though reportedly full, hidden behind looming clouds. The rumble of thunder rolls in across her body like waves across the shore; soft, welcome, encompassing in its power. The only lick of light that comes into the room is from the security system light from across the hall and the reflecting light from the street lamps. The chill of the evening air slips through the crack in the window pane, moving in like a snake on the hunt. It nips at Pidge’s nose, at her shoulders, at her toes.

But the heavy wall of Shiro, Shiro, _Shiro,_ keeps her warm. His flesh arm is wrapped around Pidge’s waist, holding her impossibly close. A clap of lightning brightens the room for a split second and she can see his fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His breath cascades against the hair at the nape of her neck. His lips press kisses to the skin of her shoulders, a press against each freckle. She is enveloped by everything he is; warmth, sterile offices, male, sweat, strength, her home, her soul. Pidge curls her toes, points them in a stretch, then seeks out the radiating warmth of Shiro’s own. When she finds them, before settling back down she lifts and flops herself down against the mattress a handful of times – Pidge never claimed to be graceful. Thunder crackles distantly, the sound round, unlike its source. Her toes wrapping themselves around Shiro’s own, her hands wheedle their way around his waist, under and over his hips to meet at the small of his back, cold digits pressed against the tiny divots there. She presses a kiss to his clothed chest, right over his heart.

“Warm,” she murmurs, voice thick and sleep-laden. A deep breath overtakes her frame, widened by years of fighting and strengthened by years of blows, but still smaller than Shiro’s mammoth form. Pidge is overcome with emotions all at once. She is safe, she is secure, Shiro is safe, Shiro is in her arms and she is in his. The sky is above them, water falling and lightning calling like it has since the dawn of time. Lightning snaps far away, lighting up her vision once more. She can see Shiro’s face, the lines of war that show in scars, in the white forelock, in the wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles, in the single line that forms between his furrowed brows when he’s upset. She sees the soft smile of love he gives her, the endless depth of his eyes, so dark she gets lost trying to come back to shore each time she looks. Shiro’s laughter shakes both their forms. His hands, wide across the expanse of Pidge’s back, rub in circles against her spine.

“Is that all I’m good for to you?” He asks jauntily thunder interrupting his words, continuing on like an echo of his question, as he stretches to press a kiss to the crown of her head. He pulls her closer, his ridiculously large biceps pressing against her. Pidge makes a noise of vague irritation at the movement before lifting her face to look at Shiro’s own. Her lips pucker, a silent request for a kiss. Who is Shiro to say no? He answers her silent plea, the hand over her waist coming up to cup Pidge’s jaw before dipping his head down once more. His touch lights fire across her skin in every crevice it meets; her waist, her spine, her shoulders, jaw, toes, shins, lips. When Shiro pulls away, he’s met with the sight of Pidge’s furrowed brows and a disappointed whine.

“Good for that too,” she murmurs, a hand slithering up under his shirt to one pec. She taps it twice before letting her hand rest there as she nuzzles in. Shiro’s huff of disbelief echoes through her own chest through the vibration of his voice, a blanket of warmth, of love, of security, of home.

Voltron may be a part of their history, but its impact lives on in moments like this. In moments where Pidge can appreciate the water cycle, can listen to the thunder that comes from the crack of lightning, can feel the sun on her face, and can hold Shiro close with no worry of what tomorrow may hold.

Voltron was her history, but Shiro is her future. 

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaah i hope you liked this,, I wrote this in a state(tm) and don't feel like it's up to par with my other stuff but I hope you like it, whether you're Ibu or someone else!


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